My house is empty. It feels drunk in dark. Massive mischief of interplays. Between memories of what has been and not. And is going on. Somewhere a light shines. Oh it is the neighbours lights. Why are they in? And why do I feel out?
My space is here but I feel not. Not lost but not to belong. The floor is cold. Cold and shaky. Or are they just my feet with no ground beneath. I try soothing myself with a lullaby. The one I used to sing to a son I once had. A shadow lurks besides me. I shiver with no cloak to hide in. Is it my own or that of my ghost’s?
Tomorrow will be another day. Where normal happy people will try to call it a day.
Where will my ghost wander off to? In rest or not. It will still enter that home, that I once had. Into which I once let sunshine in and soaked flowers. Now, nobody knows I am hungry here, for what not.
And then I will look at everybody. They will all be happy without me. Well at least they are. Because the lights were not from the neighbours but that of celebration at mine. Only I thought I bought the light.